


Things We Misplaced

by Olynna



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 09:46:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14517795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olynna/pseuds/Olynna
Summary: He’s still staring at the message, jaw tightly clenched, when he gets an incoming call from the same number. Maybe he’s stupid, because rather than just ignore it; rather than block him or simply send a message saying he doesn’t know anyone called Tooru, he finds himself swiping across to accept, and pressing the phone to his ear.“Oikawa,” he says shortly. There’s silence on the other end, almost. The faint crackle of wind, and the swish of traffic. Rain.“Please,” Oikawa says, and he sounds just broken enough that Tetsurou can only bring himself to sigh in response.





	Things We Misplaced

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, I was part of a conversation where someone mentioned hatesex being the chief form of angst in smut, and several half-formed inspirations finally connected in my head. 
> 
> The title, mood, and general inspiration for this fic come from Sara Hartman's song [Dance With A Ghost](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=72RnLNKVwBo), which I thoroughly, 100% recommend putting on in the background if you read. I dread to think how many times it looped on repeat as I was writing this.

It’s half past ten and Tetsurou’s just settling down in front of the television for a glorious night of doing absolutely nothing at all when his phone lights up. He’s already comfy, and the phone is all the way over on the coffee table, but with a groan he levers himself up and leans forward, snatching it up and trying to settle back to how he was before.  
  
He can’t, of course. The law of being comfy states that if you have to get up once you’re settled, you’ll never find that exact position again. Still, he does his best a moment before checking to see who it actually was that messaged him. Huh. Not a contact, just a string of numbers. He opens it up, and immediately wishes he hadn’t:  
  
_::Hi, it’s Tooru. I know this is probably a bad idea, but I’m in a tight spot and I need somewhere to crash. I’m sorry—I didn’t know who else to call…::_  
  
He’s still staring at the message, jaw tightly clenched, when he gets an incoming call from the same number. Maybe he’s stupid, because rather than just ignore it; rather than block him or simply send a message saying he doesn’t know anyone called Tooru, he finds himself swiping across to accept, and pressing the phone to his ear.  
  
“Oikawa,” he says shortly. There’s silence on the other end, almost. The faint crackle of wind, and the swish of traffic. Rain.  
  
“ _Please_ ,” Oikawa says, and he sounds just broken enough that Tetsurou can only bring himself to sigh in response. It must convey the message, because suddenly he’s got an earful of fawning gratitude delivered in halting, broken sentences.  
  
“It’s the same address, for what it’s worth,” he says, and hangs up.

 

* * *

 

 _“Let’s head back to mine,” he says, grinning into Tooru’s neck. The press of nearby bodies has them slotted so closely together he can feel the heat all the way down to his thighs. “Gotta be more comfortable than sticking around in this joint, right? I wanna fuck you.”_  
  
_Tooru’s hands press against his stomach, moving down to tease their way into the waistband of his jeans. “And what if I want to fuck you instead,” comes the reply, straight into Tetsurou’s ear lest it be stolen by the steady thump of the bass._  
  
_Tetsurou grins, and sucks at Tooru’s neck, leaving a line of slightly reddened skin in his wake._  
  
_“Then maybe we can fuck each other,” he says, pressing his hip into Tooru and rubbing enough that he feels the response. “We’ve got all night, haven’t we?”_  
  
_For an answer, Tooru slides his hands round to squeeze his ass, and tugs him towards the exit. They scarcely remember to grab their coats—it’s not as though the cold outside means much to them anyway, high on lust and anticipation. They’ll be hot enough soon._

 

* * *

 

The address is the same.  
  
Shit, it’s not just that it’s in the same place— _everything_ about it is the same. Same broken light above the buzzer, flickering randomly. Same graffiti tucked in the corner of the hallway. Same scuffmarks at the foot of the door from years of it being kicked open and closed. Their hands had always been full. He stands outside with his hand an inch from knocking, suddenly filled with regret. Maybe he should just leave. This was a bad idea.  
  
But then the door opens and he’s stood there, braced against the wood and this was a _terrible_ idea. Tetsu— _Kuroo_ , he’s Kuroo now—is stood there in a loose shirt and pyjama bottoms, and the only thing that’s changed is his expression. There’s nothing in his eyes any more.  
  
He doesn’t speak, just nods Tooru in and steps back, allowing him room to slip off his shoes. The door is closed behind him and then Kuroo is turning on his heel, marching back into the apartment proper without saying anything at all. Tooru tries to pretend that he doesn’t know exactly why, but there’s not much point in that.  
  
It’s his fault, after all.

 

* * *

 

 _They’ve been all over each other the entire journey home, and now that they’re stood in the lift it’s too much to keep their mouths apart. By the time the doors close Tetsurou is leaning into Tooru’s face, teeth nipping at his lower lip, hands firmly on his hips to increase the friction. Tooru’s hands ghost across his sides and then claw into his back, startling a moan out of the man who’s currently all over him, and **God** , he wants to hear more of that. He can never get enough._  
  
_They almost miss the stop because when the doors open they’re pressed against the back corner of the lift, all tongues and lips and saliva, desperate from want and impatience. It’s Tooru who pushes them out onto the hallway, scarcely letting their mouths part as they go until they bump into the far wall and Tetsurou throws his head back, giving Tooru access to his neck._  
  
_Two hands press down on his shoulders and push him away. He pouts as he looks up but Tetsurou is grinning at him._  
  
_“Well someone’s eager,” he says, sounding as cocky as ever. As though he’s any better._  
  
_Tooru palms his crotch and smirks at the deep groan he gets in response._  
  
_“Seems like I’ve got company,” he says, fluttering his eyelashes. “We’d better get indoors before I start getting too impatient.”_  
  
_“Oh you are getting fucked for that,” Tetsurou says, grinning wickedly._  
  
_“I thought we both were,” Tooru returns, running his finger over some of the marks he’s already left on Tetsurou’s neck._  
  
_They stumble along the short hallway to the door, and Tooru takes the opportunity to slip his hands into Tetsurou’s pockets and squeeze as he fumbles with the lock. As the door swings open Tetsurou turns around and pulls Tooru inside. The door slams closed and Tooru finds himself pressed against the wall._  
  
_“Oh, the things I’m gonna do now,” Tetsurou says, running his tongue along Tooru’s collar bone. Tooru shivers in the best possible way, but pushes back, sending Tetsurou staggering until they’re pressed on the other side of the hall. This time the advantage is his and he makes the most of it, sucking and biting at Tetsurou’s neck until he whimpers._  
  
_Tooru pulls away. “Not if I do them first,” he says._

 

* * *

 

It isn’t that he expected there to be anything but awkward silence at best, but somehow the reality is worse than even the anticipation was. Oikawa perches gingerly on the edge of one of the dining chairs, pretending to watch the television although his head is tilted down much too far for that. He’s inspecting his fingernails instead. Or maybe looking past them into the void. Who knows.  
  
Who cares. He’d got a lot of damn nerve even calling.  
  
It’s just as well the television is on really, although Tetsurou has lost all interest in watching it. But it gives them an excuse for their silence. He doesn’t want to know why Oikawa called. Doesn’t want to get sucked into that story. It’s much, much too late for that.  
  
Half of him expects a story anyway of course. A flurry of excuses and a false smile—the one he’d always assumed was for other people. But there’s nothing. Just a long, brooding silence.  
  
He hates how goddamn familiar that is, even after all this time.

 

* * *

 

 _They’ve made it to the sofa and frankly, Tetsurou isn’t all that fussed about going anywhere else. Tooru is laid out on top of him, hot and hard, and his nose is filled with the sharp smell which is half that goddamn teasing aftershave and half Tooru himself._  
  
_Shirts open now, he works his hands down from the back of Tooru’s neck along his shoulders. His thumbs massage in circles as they go, making the other man moan into his mouth. Tooru’s arms are more occupied with holding himself up, and there’s no way Tetsurou plans on missing this opportunity to tease._  
  
_A knee rubs against his crotch and he breaks the kiss to gasp, smirking even as Tooru chuckles into his neck. He can’t  tell what Tooru’s whispering into his skin, pressing light kisses down past his Adam’s apple to his collar bones. Whatever it is, it’s not as important as the feel of lips against his chest, or the halting gasp he hears as his roving hands reach Tooru’s nipples._  
  
_It’s dark in the flat, but there’s enough light from outside to see the normal halo of Tooru’s hair hanging somewhat limply against his head. He lifts his own thigh, hands slipping lower as he tries to rub against Tooru’s jeans in the dark._  
  
_They’re both wrestling for dominance, pushing against each other. Driven on by lust and desire; hands roving, pressing closer. Each point of contact burns with pleasure. Skin on skin, mouth on mouth, hands reaching ever lower until they’re fumbling with each others’ jeans, taking twice as long from their haste and eagerness. Tooru’s eyes are hooded and dark, pupils blown wide with lust in the small snatches Tetsurou sees of them as they shed their clothes. God, he can’t get enough._

 

* * *

 

They’ve been sat in silence for a good ten minutes before Kuroo clears his throat. Tooru keeps his head down, fighting the urge to look up. He knows damn well that the facade of control he has over himself will be shattered if he does.  
  
“Look I’m…I’m just gonna go to bed. Stay up if you want. Futon’s out in the guest room.”  
  
Tooru watches him go, saying nothing as he’s left alone with just the television’s quiet drama for company. He isn’t even sure why he held out hope for anything else. The light above is stark and bright, a brighter bulb since he was in the room last. Or perhaps it was just that Kuroo never left the overhead light on before.  
  
He waits until Kuroo’s bedroom door has been closed a full five minutes before getting up and turning everything off.

 

* * *

 

 _At some point when Tooru’s jeans are partway down his thighs they topple off the sofa, landing in a tangle of limbs on the floor. Tetsurou laughs into Tooru’s hair, and the twitch of his chest feels so damn good that Tooru doesn’t even care about how ridiculous they probably look. About how ridiculous it is, that they were too impatient to keep their balance. He’s probably a little tipsy anyway, or maybe the light-headed feeling is just the way Tetsurou’s grinding against him, seemingly unable to stop even though they’re both half-winded._  
  
_“I’m not letting you fuck me on the floor,” Tooru says._  
  
_“Oh, you’re letting me fuck you now?” Tetsurou replies, grinding harder as he slides down so that their eyes are level._  
  
_Tooru can’t hold back the gasp of pleasure, but he’s more than ready for the tease, and rubs his thumbs over the soft skin just above Tetsurou’s groin, toying with the edge of his underwear and basking in his reward as Tetsurou’s head drops to rest against his own, eyes fluttering closed._  
  
_“I’m not letting you do anything like this.”_  
  
_“Fine,” Tetsurou mumbles, lifting himself up. “My bed, right now.”_

 

* * *

 

The guest room is dark. Tooru doesn’t bother turning on the light. The futon is visible from the doorway, and there’s enough light filtering through the blinds to see his way. There’s a faint pettiness in his desire to take as little as possible, even if it’s just in the form of electricity. Half of him wonders if he ought to have just slept on the sofa instead.  
  
…On second thoughts, no.  
  
He’s never once slept in this room before, and the futon is cold and lonely. This is a space for people to fill with luggage for days or weeks at a time, and then leave again with no trace of themselves remaining. It’s an impermanent room, for those who don’t belong, and it’s obvious enough even from the pictures hung on the walls—an old family photograph, and some traditional landscapes which someone must have bought Kuroo as a gift, because there’s no way he would have picked out something like that himself.  
  
This is the room where unwanted things are tucked out of the way, and he doesn’t even belong _here_. His presence is thinly tolerated at best.  
  
All the walls are thin in these apartments, and with the television off he can hear movement in the room next door. The radio clicks on, playing something loud and rhythmic. Somehow it only makes it more obvious how silent his own room is, and Tooru lifts the pillow and slips his head under it to try and drown out the sound. It works, except now he can’t escape the smell of the detergent Kuroo has been using since before they even met.

 

* * *

 

 _They stagger into the bedroom, door slamming wide open behind them. It’s Tooru who wins the battle to push the other onto the bed but moments later Tetsurou has flipped them both over. Tooru lets him stay there just long enough to fetch the lube and condoms from his bedside cabinet then pushes back, arching his back for leverage and wrapping their legs together before twisting from his hips. Kuroo lands beneath him, bottle in hand, smirk in place._  
  
_“Someone’s eager,” he quips again._  
  
_“Someone else is holding the lube,” Tooru replies sweetly. “Hand it over.”_  
  
_For an answer, Tetsurou pops the lid and coats his fingers, eyebrow raised. He flips the lid closed with one hand and drops the bottle onto the bed, raising himself up on his elbows._  
  
_“All yours,” he mutters, twisting so that his weight rests on one arm and he can reach down with the other._  
  
_Tooru gasps as cold fingers reach inside his underwear and wrap around his cock, pumping him lazily a few times. He glares at their owner, who’s watching his face with an amused smirk._  
  
_“You ass,” he hisses._  
  
_The hand moves lower. “Nope, your ass,” Tetsurou mutters, and the smile on his face stretches even wider. “Unless you can beat me to it.”_

 

* * *

 

The radio is too loud, but it beats sleeping in silence on a night like tonight. Assuming he actually manages to get any rest, at least. _God_ , he thought he was past this. Past noticing how empty his bed feels; past the ache in his heart and his gut as he thinks about the silent figure on his sofa as he left the room.  
  
Not that he stayed there, of course. Tetsurou heard the footsteps, and the door to the spare room opening and closing again. The faint _click_ of the latch was the most damning of all. No friend of his has ever slept in there before.  
  
And sure, he’d set it up. Announced it, and for good reason—he doesn’t _want_ Oikawa sauntering back into his life at this point.  
  
Does he?  
  
He tosses and turns in his bed, hating and loving the music which fills the air, and wondering once more whether silence would be better or worse.

 

* * *

 

 _Tooru is moaning beneath him, eyelids fluttering with every stroke. Tetsurou can’t get enough of the sound—Tooru’s wrecked, crying out with wild, careless abandon and Tetsurou wants to capture this moment forever. Sweat and screams and aching thighs, desperate with want, chasing pleasure which coils in his gut ever tighter, and tighter…_  
  
_Hands claw at his back, racking scratches into him as Tooru throws his head back, crying out Tetsurou’s name, begging him to go faster, harder, more more **more**._  
  
_Tetsurou forces himself to slow, because he can’t fuck Tooru harder and kiss along his jaw, and there’s no fucking way he’s going to give in this quickly. He’s not ready to stop, not ready to give up the hunger in Tooru’s cries. Sweat beads at his temples; it’s running down his back, along his chest, his arms, his jaw, his nose. Tooru’s skin shines with it in the low light, perfect jewels on perfectly toned muscles, and if he weren’t so close to reaching the end of his patience Tetsurou would stop to kiss each and every one._  
  
_“God, just fuck me already!” Tooru cries, reaching up to wrap both hands around the back of Tetsurou’s head._  
  
_He’s pulled down, down into a tangle of tongues and lips, hands tugging at his hair and Tooru’s moans of pleasure vibrating through his jaw as Tetsurou picks up the pace because this is living, this is love, this is unstoppable._  
  
_Skin slaps on skin as he braces himself on one arm, reaching down with his free hand to wrap his fingers around Tooru’s slick cock, pumping hard enough that he can feel the sudden tightness around his own as Tooru cries out again._  
  
_Tetsurou feels his own eyelids start to flutter, feels the tension in his own body; knows he’s close, so close._

 

* * *

 

The silence is unbearable. He’s never going to sleep. He’s given up on doing anything other than lying on his back just staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of distant traffic outside. Down in the street, someone is laughing as they walk along, irregular drunken footsteps telling the lie to their repeated claims that no, no, they’re _fine_.  
  
Tooru isn’t fine. His head is throbbing; there’s no comfort in the thin pillow beneath him, or from the old, scratchy spare sheets entombing him in the dark.  
  
The drunks move on and now there’s nothing to latch onto. Nothing to distract him from the torment of insomnia and the churning, aching hole in his gut. It’s all wrong. It’s all _wrong_. He shouldn’t have come. It would almost have been better to sleep on the street than this.

 

* * *

 

 _Tooru arches his back as Tetsurou kisses a searing line into his jaw. His hands scratch down his back to his perfect ass, pulling him closer; startling a gasp from the man above him._  
  
_“Fuck, yes,” he cries, almost too far gone in pleasure to care that he’s never going to have the energy to fuck Tetsurou back after this. The world is narrowing, darkening at the edges as his eyelids flutter. He can feel it, drawing him in from the back of his head all the way down to his toes. Reaching, reaching, tensing and pulling Tetsurou in, clutching him as he cries out again, again: “Yes, yes, **yes**!”_  
  
_More. More. Harder, harder, faster. More, need more, yes, there, oh God, there. Don’t stop. Don’t stop._  
  
_Tetsurou’s hand squeezes gently as he strokes and thrusts in time and the world lights up in sparks. Tooru’s eyes roll back; tense and tense and then it’s almost too much as Tetsurou groans in his ear, clutching him close as he peaks as well._  
  
_They collapse together, sticky and too hot, and far, far too tired to care._  
  
_Tooru hums. He could fall asleep forever, sated and happy._

 

* * *

 

It’s too quiet when Tetsurou wakes. He’s not sure when he fell asleep exactly—it must have been late, long past the last of the drunks going home. But it’s silent now, and sunlight is streaming through the windows, and he’s pretty sure he would have felt less like shit if he hadn’t slept at all than he does having caught an hour or two’s rest.  
  
There’s no noise at all as he gets out of bed and throws on some old jogging bottoms and a shirt from the laundry pile. It nags at him; wrong, wrong wrong, but it’s not until he braves the living room that he finds out why.  
  
The living room is clean and tidy. All the abandoned plates and cups from the night before have stacked neatly by the sink while he slept. When he looks to the spare room the door is wide open, letting him see the sheets and futon folded neatly in the middle of the floor.  
  
Oikawa’s gone, and it’s not until mid-morning that he shakes off the sick, gaping emptiness of it all and checks his phone. Sure enough there’s the note:  
  
_::Thank you. I know I fucked up last night. I shouldn’t have done that to you. Don’t worry, I won’t bother you again. I’m sorry for troubling you at all.::_  
  
It’s funny, really, how it’s exactly what he wanted to hear for all these years, and somehow it still feels like he just lost all over again.  
  
He saves the number in his phone, although he knows Oikawa better than to think he won’t keep his word.

 

* * *

 

_“Mm, I love you,” Tetsurou murmurs sleepily. Tooru shifts in his sleep, but doesn’t wake._

**Author's Note:**

> Updated Endnote: Following the Great Tumblr Purge of '18, my blog there is no more. If you want to holler at me I can now be found on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/OlynnaWrites). Please only request access if you are over 18!


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